


Anger Management

by Musichick2004



Category: NCIS
Genre: Anger Management, Domestic Violence, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7658557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musichick2004/pseuds/Musichick2004
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Gibbs have been on again, off-again for nearly the whole time Tony has been at NCIS. They were doing so well until one drunken fight left them bruised and broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anger Management

Tony felt eyes on him and looked up. McGee was watching him, concerned. “Take a picture, it'll last longer, Probie.” He was angry and bitter and he didn't care. He knew he looked like crap, he knew McGee was just worried, but he didn't have the energy to deal with him. Of course, Gibbs chose just that moment to turn the corner and return to his desk, and the sight of him was like a punch in the gut. They'd been on-again-off-again for years, but lately he’d had the fool notion that they were doing well. Until his fist had connected with his face.

 

Tony had run out of his apartment, drove around for an hour until he was certain Jethro was gone, then thrown himself into bed in tears. He'd cleaned off the blood, but was sure there would be bruises the next day, evidence he didn't want to answer for, and he’d called Vance to feign the flu. He couldn't face anyone right then.

 

But, two weeks later, all evidence was nearly gone now. A slight tinge of yellow where there had been a glaring purple shiner, a small scab was the only remainder of the split skin beneath rough knuckles. Seeing the raw emotion in Gibbs’s eyes, though, that hurt even worse. Tony looked back at his computer, deleted everything he’d typed, and began his resignation letter one last time. He couldn't do this anymore. It wasn't fair to either of them, and one of these days this relationship, or whatever the hell it was, would get one or both of them killed. He printed the page, pulled it from the machine before it had a chance to cool, and ran from the bullpen.

 

“DiNozzo!” Gibbs stood and shouted at him, but he kept going. It wasn't even noon. The ancient printer fired up once again, and it wasn't until Gibbs checked it that he realized Tony had accidentally printed two copies.

 

He had to make this right. The team needed Tony. _He_ needed Tony.

 

Hours later, Tony sat at his kitchen table, signed and notarized resignation in one hand, bourbon in the other. The same bourbon they'd been drinking together that night. The same chair he'd jumped from before he felt knuckle hit bone. He didn't even remember what the argument was about, but it was probably stupid. And even if it wasn't, nothing excused what happened. He'd always told himself, if that ever happened, he wasn't going to stay. He wasn't going to be like his parents, sticking around as the drinking got worse and the bruises more severe.

 

Then his doorbell rang. Nobody had rung the buzzer. Who the hell snuck into his building? And then a gentle knock and the familiar voice. “Tony? Please, if you're home, I'd like to talk. I won't come in if you don't want me to, but I want to try.” Jethro could easily use his key and come in and demand they work this out. It'd happened before. The demanding, not the punching. That was new. But so was this. Tony wasn't sure if they could get past this, but they were both relatively calm, so it couldn't hurt to get everything out. He slid the chain lock and opened the deadbolt and stepped back to the table.

 

Jethro stepped in with a paper bag from his favorite Italian place. “You're not eating. That's not good. I brought your favorite. And cannoli.”

 

“Thanks Boss,” Tony whispered, and Jethro sighed.

 

“Eat first or talk first?” Jethro asked, as he stood by the stove, ready to put the meals in to warm up.

 

“Talk. Don't feel like eating, let's finish this.” Tony couldn't look Jethro in the eye and he was ashamed to feel hot tears pooling in his eyes.

 

“Nothing's finished,” Jethro said, dropping the containers and crossing the small room. “Unless we decide to give up. I'm not giving up.”

 

Tony started shaking, “I won't be my parents. What happened, Jethro, was abuse. Domestic goddamn violence. It's not acceptable, and here you are telling me not to give up?” He leaned against the wall and felt himself start to slide down. Jethro joined him.

 

“I am asking you to not give up. _Asking_. Please.” He wrapped his arm around Tony's shoulder and felt Tony's dam break. His lover curled into himself and sobbed as Jethro held him until his tears were dry and all that was left were shaking inhalations and deep sniffles.

 

“C’mere. Let's eat.” Jethro stood, his knee cracking twice, and held out a hand to help Tony up. He ignored it and stood on his own, turned to the sink and splashed water on his face, dried it, and straightened his shirt before turning back to Gibbs and the food. He ate slowly, barely tasting the perfectly cooked chicken or the handmade sauce he usually loved. When he’d eaten about half, he stood and quietly packed the rest into a container for another time. And then Jethro was behind him.

 

“Tony. Please talk to me.” Jethro never said please. He never _asked_ for anything. He wasn't gentle.

 

“Who _are_ you?” he asked, half jokingly, but it just came out sad and strained.

 

“I love you Tony, and I'm not running from this. I need you. I shouldn't have…”

 

Tony was furious again, “you shouldn't have _what_?”

 

“Left. I should have stayed until you got back and we talked like this.” His eyes were fiery again, the Jethro he knew and loved.

 

“No, you shouldn't have come _back_ . That's the only stupid thing you've ever done, Jethro.” Tony felt himself falling again, spiralling into tears, but Jethro caught him. He pulled Tony onto the couch and held him. Tony tried to push away, but _his_ Jethro was back, and he held tight.

“Stop. Let go, I'm here and I'll be here when you get back.” Tony had only had two panic attacks before, and Jethro saw this one coming. Tony’s chest constricted as memories of his parents fights flooded his brain, the alcohol, the ER visits, his father coming home with flowers and useless apologies as his mother downed painkillers to hide her fear. The faces changed in his mind, to him and Jethro, and Tony really lost it. He was scared, so scared.

 

Tony actually fell asleep in Jethro's arms. Jethro sat and held him, not letting him see the tears in his own eyes. He’d seen this coming for months now. He’d stopped that fist several times already, he just hadn't caught it this time. And now Tony was thinking of leaving for good. It was unacceptable. He stroked Tony’s hair and slid off into a restless sleep as well.

 

Morning came and Tony woke, still fully clothed, on his couch. Alone. He sat up straight when he heard the sounds of something spattering in the kitchen. _Bacon. Mmmmm, bacon. Ugh, now my internal monologue sounds like a bad beggin’ strips commercial_. But, like the commercial, he followed his nose. Jethro was wearing jeans and an undershirt, making his favorite breakfast. “If I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to get into my pants.” But the smile left his face when he saw the brochures on the table, and the business card for some M.S.W. “anger management?”

 

Jethro nodded and shrugged. “I've been going. Might help.”

 

“You? Going to counseling?”

 

Jethro slid the sausages onto a plate and pulled the bacon and spinach frittata from the oven. “Yeah. Group meetings too.”

 

Tony gaped. He sat as Jethro placed the plates on the table and sat next to him. Jethro wrapped his fingers around Tony's hand and ran his thumb across his knuckles. Knuckles that, less than a week ago, were still hurting and scabbed. “Jethro, I can't be my father. I won't. Just because you're stronger than my mother, doesn't mean it's OK.”

 

Tony looked up and tentatively brushed his fingers over the last vestiges of injury on Jethro's left cheek with a shudder. “I hurt you. We’ve wrestled before, we’ve thrown our weight around, we’ve gotten physical, but...I hit you. I was angry, and I saw red, and I hit you. Nothing can change that. I wish we could just start over.”

 

Jethro thought about giving Tony a head slap, but he’d stopped that the first time Tony told him about the physical abuse he’d grown up with. “I don't. I don't want to start over.”

 

Tony felt what was left of his heart crumble. He knew it. This was the last straw, and Jethro was finally done with him.

 

But then Jethro tucked a hand under his chin and lifted it until Tony was looking right at him. Right into the face he'd aimed all his anger at. “I want to move forward. Tony, maybe this was a good thing.”

 

Tony yanked his head away, “A good thing? Almost knocking you unconscious and leaving you with a swollen shiner and hairline fracture? Making you feel like you had to lie to your best friend so he wouldn't cut me open on his slab while I'm alive? Me watching Abby fawn over your bruise and joking about cover up just so she doesn't find some way to kill me without leaving a trace? How is that GOOD?!”

 

Jethro stayed calm, for once, and held both of his hands. “Tony, that wasn't the first time you've tried. I'm a Marine, I've always deflected or stopped you before, and hell, I didn't know if you'd ever do it. You only connected the other day because I was drunk. If I'd stopped you again, maybe you wouldn't be confronting this. You're a good man with demons, and I've got plenty of those myself. We could both stand to talk with someone. If we start over and try to forget this happened, we probably will just circle right back. Let’s move on from it instead.”

 

Tony blinked in shock. “That's the most you've ever said about _anything_. Plus…” He stood and reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the crumpled papers. Identical copies of the ones Jethro had left on the table, and they both chuckled.

 

“Let me guess, EAP?” Jethro asked, and Tony nodded.

 

“Haven't gone yet, though.”

 

“You want me to come with you to the group tonight?” Jethro's thumb was stroking Tony's knuckles again, and Tony tried very hard to keep his emotions in check. He nodded. “Tony, I'm sorry.”

 

Those words sliced into his heart and he gasped. “What? No, no, this is on me, don't apologize, please…”

 

Jethro brought a hand to Tony's cheek, “not for that. I won't enable you there, but I've done some shitty things to you too. I've never raised a hand to a lover, but I'm a bastard. Mexico was the worst...and after...you didn't deserve that. I won't let you get away with what you did, I promise you that, if you can promise me the same. I don't want to go back to how it was in the beginning.” Talking and feelings were two things that had never belonged in the same _room_ as Jethro even just 5 short years ago, but he and Tony had grown a lot this last time. After Jeanne, Jethro woke up. Nobody else saw him change, but he’d do anything for Tony.

 

“I love you, and it sounds so stupid coming out of my mouth, like when my father would bring my mom flowers and vow it would never happen again, I can't even say it. I want to get on my knees and beg you to take me back, to forgive me, to apologize and swear to you I'll fix it. But then I worry it’s all bullshit. Maybe dad actually meant it in that moment too. Maybe he did feel bad. Maybe he did intend to keep his hands to himself. Maybe I am the same.”

 

Jethro squeezed Tony tight, “you're not the same. Not in the slightest. Whatever he felt in that moment doesn't matter, it's his actions that matter. And if you don't want to say anything, that's fine by me, we’ll go by your actions. Prove to me that you're working on it, instead of telling me.”

 

Tony nodded and threw his arms around Jethro, “ok. OK. Group tonight, go from there. Is it too much if I ask…” he paused, afraid it would be too soon, but Jethro squeezed him in encouragement, “could you stay tonight? Just...I don't want to be alone. I'm not ready for more, not yet.”

  
Jethro nodded. He wanted nothing more than to make love to Tony, to prove to him that he truly believed how good he was, and that he’d never stop loving him, but if he needed someone to just sleep beside, he’d be there. And when Tony was ready for more, he’d be there for that too.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea popped into my head a while ago, and I didn't want to fit it into either of my longer fics/series, so it's a stand alone.
> 
> Muse is fighting me on focusing on the slave AU, so I gave her this one.


End file.
